


Three Hundred And Eighty Heroes

by MsBee



Series: Lore and Ishara - Eclectic Tales [5]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBee/pseuds/MsBee
Summary: He turned his attention to the book and seemed to miss a beat, his brow furrowing as he stared at the lurid cover. “What... what is it?”“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a romance novel before?” Ishara asked in amazement.





	Three Hundred And Eighty Heroes

‘Retrofest - a celebration of Earth’s 20th century culture!’

Lore glared at the advertising banner. Pfffft. Was there really that much to celebrate?

He turned the question over in his mind as he strolled through the commotion of exhibits and stalls that filled Chihiro Station’s Civic Center.

Some of the music had been outstanding, that much was true, but hadn’t the earthlings just used all those distractions - movies, music, celebrities - to blot out their problems? After all, that century and the one following it had been besieged by civil unrest, political turmoil, climate change and a host of other problems - all self-inflicted. They had taken their society to the edge before they finally pulled it back and began to cooperate to find some solutions.

Stupid, organic idiots. In Lore’s opinion they hadn’t developed their intelligence much as a species over the intervening centuries.

Worshippers of ancient cultures weren’t uncommon, but usually it took the form of a bar playing old music or fashionistas taking inspiration from Ziggy Stardust. Here on Chihiro Station the reverence was overt - even extending to AEC (Ancient Earth Culture) courses at the local university where most of the coursework seemed to consist of watching vintage soap operas and using twenty fourth century emulators to play four hundred year old video games.

In truth the Retrofest festival was part recruitment drive for next term’s history students, part sales pitch for the many companies in the sector manufacturing replica ‘20th C’ items for the lucrative collectibles market.

Normally Lore wouldn’t have been caught dead at a self-congratulatory event like this - particularly not one with such a dubious premise. Except that Chihiro University’s professor of twentieth century technology - whose expert appraisal he needed - was one of the organisers and had been too busy to meet anywhere else.

The android patted the bundle he carried under his arm, for once feeling pleased with his luck. Who would have thought that one of the dust covered crates in the cargo bay of his Pakled ship held such a treasure - a Betamax VCR from the earth year 1980, just confirmed by the professor as genuine, rare and worth a small fortune to the right buyer.

To his deep irritation he actually had one of those stupid, organic idiots to thank for his good fortune.

He’d been rummaging through the boxes, desperately hoping to find some spare ship parts stashed by the previous crew, whilst simultaneously complaining about their lack of funds. Ishara had hovered at his shoulder, commenting on each container’s contents as he finished with it - old clothes, ugly Pakled ornaments - until suddenly she wondered aloud what a carefully wrapped black box with a slot in it was for.

Junk, Lore told her witheringly. Ancient human junk.

Ishara disagreed, pointing out that someone had taken the trouble to parcel it up, sealing it away from dirt, damage and the passing of time. She gathered up the box with it’s wires and cassettes, then disappeared to search her PADD for an answer to what it was.

After a while she reappeared to smugly announce that it was a video player from the twentieth century and it might just be worth something to someone.

Fortunately she was right, selling the artefact would provide a much needed boost to their funds at a critical time. At least they would have money to repair the ship and get mobile again.

Frowning, the android surveyed the exhibits for his partner. Where the hell had she got to? Surely she had eaten and looked round by now, she ought to have been waiting for him by the entrance. It was typical of her to wander off....

The Civic Center looked crowded, but Lore knew that it was an illusion. The floor was embedded with holographic technology, making it capable of generating a three dimensional display - literally bringing the past to life. Characters from ancient movies and video games laughed and waved at visitors, beckoning them toward the booths. Other stalls had organic minders who called out cheerfully, trying to entice potential customers.

Ignoring them all Lore crossed to a balcony and looked over to survey the wide concourse level underneath where the exhibition continued.

Down below a large holographic tyrannosaur stomped around, roaring every now and then. It swished it’s tail harmlessly at passersby, causing giggling and screaming from a group of teenage girls.

The android did a double take - someone had got their history seriously wrong - until he remembered that there had been a movie featuring some kind of computer generated dinosaurs that had been groundbreaking at the time.

He shook his head, this exhibition was crazy - the holograms blended reality with fantasy as if there was no distinction. Half these idiots would probably leave here thinking that dinosaurs had walked the earth in the twentieth century, and that moustachioed plumbers in red hats had saved a princess from them by jumping on their heads...

Where was Ishara? He would leave without her if she didn’t turn up soon.

There she was.

He hadn’t seen her straight away because she was standing directly below the balcony, at the edge of one of the stalls. She was sipping a drink and listening with rapt attention to the stallholder. Gaudy red t-shirts bearing the white logo ‘Coca-Cola’ were lying packaged on the table behind him and he had one in his hand, using it occasionally to gesture with.

Ishara had a large bag slung across one shoulder with another in her hand. Lore felt his lips curl with a mixture of contempt and amusement - she was hustling, using her dumb blonde act to getfreebies. He would have been willing to bet that she hadn’t paid for a single thing in either carrier.

He couldn’t honestly accuse her of showing too much flesh or otherwise using her body to get attention. Wearing a white sundress with her hair caught up in a ponytail she looked like a fantasy girl next door - wide eyed and smiling. She’d probably calculated that if she was too vampy half these guys would be terrified to speak to her and dressed accordingly.

The stallholder she was listening to puffed out his chest as he talked, lapping up her avid interest.

The android ground his teeth. The guy was the dictionary definition of a bearded nerd, he had probably never seen a real woman naked in his entire life, how could he think someone like Ishara would be interested in him?

Although maybe sexually inexperienced losers were Ishara’s type - a small voice in his head suggested nastily - maybe she was in her element here, surrounded by all the _other_ losers.

Lore snarled inwardly at the self flagellating monologue, but somehow it was enough to propel him into a turbolift, down toward his lover.

“That’s fascinating,” she was saying as Lore drew nearer. “I never knew that-” She broke off as the android slid his arm round her waist.

“Knew what, honey?”

Lore saw the man’s eyes widen and Ishara choked on the mouthful of dark liquid she had just taken. He restrained a sneer - clearly he was breaking up the party by appearing like this.

Ishara plastered a bright smile on her face and turned to him, her eyes warning, “This gentleman was just telling me about the soft drink industry in the twentieth century. It’s so interesting.” She took another sip as if she was auditioning for a commercial, “It tastes really good. They want to bring it back. Here, try it.”

“That’s ok,” Lore patted her hip patronisingly. “I had a grown-up drink upstairs.” He turned his attention to the nerd, who made the mistake of looking the android up and down rather contemptuously, his attitude pompous and superior. “Are you aware of the Pepsi challenge?” Loreasked.

He spent the next five minutes loudly demonstrating a superior knowledge of twentieth century fizzy drinks - all streamed directly from the space station’s vast libraries, cross referenced by his positronic brain and spewing from his lips without the need for much conscious thought.

The stallholder’s face reddened, first with irritation, then in embarrassed defeat. A small crowd of interested geeks was forming around them - Lore suspected he was either going to get offered a lecturing position at the university or be thrown out on his ear.

Ishara must have thought the same thing. She flashed an apologetic smile at the man, then caught hold of the android’s arm and began to pull, “Come on, _honey_! I want to show you the dinosaur!”

“Um, honey, you do know that there were no real dinosaurs in the twentieth century?” There were sniggers in the crowd and Ishara’s face reddened a little. Satisfied, Lore allowed himself to be tugged away.

“Why did you have to butt in?” she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot, “The drink was nice and in two more minutes he would have given me that t-shirt.”

Lore rolled his eyes, “They had to ban that stuff in the twenty first century because it was making humans ill but they were too stupid to stop drinking it! And the t-shirt was hideous. What were you going to do with it?”

She was silent, confirming his suspicion that she had just been collecting as much free junk as she could get. “Give it to you?” she suggested finally, slanting him a humorous look, “You could wear it in bed.”

“Pfffft,” he replied, affronted. “Tell me, did you actually pay for anything in those bags or did you sleaze it all out from under these losers?”

“Excuse me? These people are supposed to give away promotional freebies! It’s part of their job.”

“Yeah?” he shot back. “And just how far would you have gone if one of them had something you actually _wanted_?”

“You-,” she broke off as they entered the busy turbolift to return to the upper level.

Although she had technically had the last word Lore felt that he’d won the argument. He smirked, pleased that he’d succeeded in needling Ishara with his barbs.

She stood close to the wall, keeping her back pointedly turned to him. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a tightness to her jaw. Her hair was slipping out of the upswept style, forming curls at her temples and neck. Lore studied her profile for a moment or two, then lifted his hand to her nape and traced an escaping tendril of hair, letting the silky blonde strands wind round one finger while his other digits rested on her soft skin beneath.

Ishara shot him a challenging glance over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

He let his eyes burn into her - possessive and desiring. After a moment of the intensely chargedcontact her expression softened and she asked, “How did the meeting go?”

Lore’s grin was pure satisfaction. “Authenticity verified. Now we just need to wait for the buyer.”

“He’s coming here?”

“Where else would a twentieth century nerd want to come? He’ll be here tomorrow night. There’s some kind of parade followed by a big costume party for the closing of the exhibition.”

“But,” Ishara’s brows drew together in a frown, “I don’t have a costume...”

“Just wear black. You’ll never be out of style.”

Ishara arranged her collection of freebies along the edge of the holo table in the ship’s lounge and stretched out on one of the sofas to admire them.

There were samples of authentic candy bars and snacks. An adorable tiger plush toy with a cute grin and jaunty neckerchief- possibly a mascot for an old breakfast cereal because there had been a packet of crispy flakes along with him. A slim paperback reprint of an old romantic novel. Several t-shirts with old advertising logos printed on them.

Best of all there was a data cube of the greatest films of the twentieth century - it hadn’t been converted into 3-D format so it would be a flat image, but it should work with the holo table and would provide shared entertainment other than bickering or sex while they were travelling in deep space.

Not a bad haul, she thought cheerfully.

The cover of the romantic novel caught her eye and she hesitated, glancing guiltily at the doorway. She had downloaded one or two romances onto her PADD since she began to try to improve her reading, but she knew Lore would mock her if he actually saw her with the book.

The android was busy though. He had announced his intention to search the cargo bay thoroughly before Retrofest ended, just in case there were any more twentieth century artefacts hidden in the piles of crates. Ishara could dimly hear him pottering about, shifting containers and muttering to himself. Normally she would have offered to help - partly for the pleasure of nosing through someone else’s junk, partly because she didn’t think Lore would recognise anything of value to a human unless it had a label and a price tag - but her feet were still aching from walking the exhibition hall, and it felt delicious to relax against the sofa cushions and do nothing.

She looked at the book again. _One Chance For Love_, the title proclaimed. The cover illustration showed a blonde woman and a dark haired man locked in a passionate clinch against a tropical background. The drawing actually resembled the two of them and if Lore noticed the likeness he would scoff - although she wouldn’t blame him for that, she’d giggled at the picture herself when the lady on the stall had offered it to her.

On impulse she picked up the paperback and began to read.

The plot was predictable, but interesting enough to keep her turning the pages. Her reading really had improved and she was able to speed through the slim novel at a fair pace.

As the story drew to a close, Claudio and Alessa, the hero and heroine, had overcome the obstacles between them and surely their sham marriage, entered into for various unlikely reasons, would become real as soon as they confessed their love.

They walked together along a tropical beach fringed with palm trees. The secluded bay was crystal clear, the water lapping lazily at the shore. Further out the ocean changed colour as it deepened, shifting to a dazzling azure. The sun shimmered, almost blinding on the peaks of distant waves...

Ishara stopped reading and let her eyes drift shut. She had never seen a blue sea with her own eyes, never walked barefoot on golden sands - it sounded like paradise.

Unbidden, a mental picture formed of herself and Lore strolling along a deserted beach, holding hands while the sun beat down and the waves coursed gently over her toes...

No, too unrealistic. She and Lore never held hands. Perhaps they should be walking _toward_ each other - if he was a distance away then he wouldn’t be able to say anything obnoxious.

Fantasy adjusted, Ishara considered it for a moment longer, then let out a wistful sigh, shook her head at her own foolishness, and looked back down at the text.

“What the hell is that?”

Lore’s voice from the doorway made her start guiltily. Had he been standing there watching her while she daydreamed?

“Just a book, a reprint from the 20th century. I got it at Retrofest.” Knowing that her cheeks were pink Ishara quickly turned down a corner of the page she was reading, then closed the novel and shoved it down the back of the sofa. “Did you find anything else?”

The android wasn’t so easily distracted. “Are you hiding it?” he asked, coming fully into the room, his golden eyes sharp with curiosity.

“No...”

He climbed onto the sofa at her feet and stretched out over her, caging her body with his. “We can do this two ways,” he purred, stroking a finger along the sensitive skin of her neck. “Eitherone is fine with me.”

Ishara was tempted to keep defying him, just for the pleasure of being persuaded otherwise. His long finger had reached her cleavage where it paused between her breasts, hooked into the neckline of her dress and his eyebrows rose in an amused question. She knew from experience that he was strong enough to tear through the fabric and it was an effort not to arch her back and encourage him, but she resisted - she liked this dress.

“Ugh. Whatever,” she replied breathlessly, pulling the book out from the depths of the sofa cushions and slapping it against his chest.

Lore took it and rocked back to a kneeling position with a triumphant smirk. “See how easy that was.” He turned his attention to the book and seemed to miss a beat, his brow furrowing as he stared at the lurid cover. “What... what is it?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a romance novel before?” Ishara asked in amazement. Even in the tunnels of Turkana IV there been one or two tattered copies of romantic novels that had been passed round in a vague attempt at sex education for the younger girls.

Lore hesitated, obviously sifting through his memory files. “Maybe Juliana...” he trailed off, beginning to flick through the pages in the enviably swift way that meant he was reading. After a long minute he’d finished and he tossed the slim volume back at her, sneering dismissively. “Pffft, what would I be doing with this kind of trash?”

There was a sudden silence. Ishara could almost hear his neural net kicking into overdrive as he turned his intent gold stare on her and asked the next logical question, “What are you doing with it?”

He sounded vaguely horrified. Ishara felt her cheeks colour again and she looked away. “The sentences are short. It’s easy to read.” It was the truth - mostly.

She could feel his eyes on her face but she didn’t return his gaze, focusing instead on the plush tiger on the edge of the table. It’s previously cheerful smile now looked more like a sympathetic grimace. She reached across and straightened it’s neckerchief with one finger, outwardly ignoring the android but inwardly bracing herself for mocking laughter or an acerbic comment about herreading habits.

He came to his feet in a fluid motion and turned his back on her. “I’m going back to the cargo bay,” he said in a strangely flat tone.

Lore hung around in the hold for a while, half heartedly searching through a few more of the Pakled crates. He felt restless, but made himself remain there quietly until a deep hush fell over the ship. Then he crept back to the mess and peeked in through the doorway.

As he had suspected Ishara was asleep on the sofa, surrounded by her pile of junk - probably worn out by all the inane smiling she had done to get it - the book and her PADD lay on the floor, unguarded.

Careful not to wake her, the android scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom. She stirred a little as he pulled the covers over her, her fingers tightening around his arm as if she wanted him to stay. He froze, then felt her grip slacken as she drifted back down to deeper sleep.

Lore returned to the sofa and, tapping her passcode into the PADD, he navigated to the library section of the device and began to scan through the items she had downloaded. There were five publications that seemed to be digital versions of the paperback - the titles and pictures on the front covers were similar, although clearly more modern. _Planet of Passion, The Galaxy Gift, Arms of Orion..._

So, Ishara liked romantic novels. That was unexpected.

Maybe it was a human female thing. A thorough search of his memory had reminded him that Juliana had indeed owned several of these books, although she had been careful not to leave them lying around - perhaps feeling they weren’t the sort of literature for a respected doctor to be seen reading. Naturally her furtiveness had made Lore curious and he’d once sneaked a peek, speeding through half a volume before dropping it in disgust at the organic filth contained inside.

_Stupid humans, always disguising their nasty hormonal desires with dubious concepts like love and romance_, he had thought back then. _If they want to rut like animals to propagate their species why not just be honest about it? Why invent such lies?_

Of course that had been before he met Ishara. Since she entered his life some of the ideas he’d dismissed as mere drivel had actually begun to seem feasible - even for a machine like him.

Lore let out a snort and flopped back in the pile of cushions to stare at the ceiling - feasible? He felt, certainly, but usually in wild surges of passion that were hard to quantify. He was a walking question mark when it came to his emotions.

None of it made sense - half the time he was desperate for her, the other half he just wanted to wring her neck. Sometimes it seemed as though his feelings for Ishara were a constant churning conflict to add to all the other unresolved problems buzzing round in the back of his head.

If it hadn’t been for the sigh he would probably just have dismissed the whole thing, laughed at the book, mocked her mercilessly for several days for reading something so sappy, but the sigh... a sigh like that had hinted at hopes and dreams, unfulfilled needs.

He wanted to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that it was just sex between them, and any other desires she happened to have were strictly not his problem, but somehow he couldn’t make himself believe it.

Her sigh had fed the ever present suspicion that ultimately he wouldn’t be _enough_ for her, that maybe one day she would want more than orgasms and excitement. She would want a proper relationship. If he was forced into putting a name to it - maybe Ishara would want _love_.

Love that he didn’t know if he knew how to give, not just because he was just a collection of circuits and wires wrapped in bioplast sheeting, but because at his core he was evil - hadn’t he been told it often enough? - and surely any feeling of love had to be a reflection of some inner goodness that he just did not possess.

If he examined the situation honestly the idea that a broken wretch like him could love anyone was far fetched - the idea that they might love him back was laughable.

Wasn’t it?

He stared moodily at the cover of the novel he had inadvertently crumpled in his hand. If he wanted to understand romantic love he needed more input. The space station’s library database would probably have novels like this ready to download.

Lore settled deeply into the sofa cushions, his expression taking on that blank twitching quality which meant he was accessing information.

The station’s library contained three hundred and seventy three novels, which, added to the five novels on Ishara’s PADD and the one physical book in his hand, totalled three hundred and seventy nine romantic stories to choose from.

Lore read them all.

It took him a total of six and a half hours to complete the task - punctuated only by his own occasional muttered commentary and eye rolling - and a further two hours to analyse and cross reference the works.

It was morning.

After a while Ishara entered the ship’s mess, wearing her short silk robe and yawning deeply, her hair a wild mop, her eyes still half closed. She walked past him, did a double take, then sleepily asked him what he was doing on the sofa.

“Thinking,” the android replied in a tone guaranteed to discourage further inquiries.

She shrugged and continued on her way across to the kitchen.

Lore went back to his analysis. In truth he hadn’t needed to read all the stories - he had seen straight away that the novels had a formula, with only the details differing - but somehow he had wanted to keep downloading them until there were none left. It had been almost compulsive, following the twists and turns that lead to ‘true love’, and he suspected that it would be possible for a weak minded individual to become addicted to this genre of fiction.

With that in mind he’d quickly tucked Ishara’s book in the back pocket of his loose trousers when he heard her leave the bedroom, for some reason he didn’t want her reading such foolishness, didn’t want her harbouring romantic ideas. He knew it was stupid almost as soon as he’d done it -like trying to shut the stable door after the horse had bolted, as his father would have said - but it was too late to take the gesture back and he could feel the rectangular paperback pressed against his butt as he lay there.

To his surprise the books had brightened his hopes that he was at least capable of romantic love. Goodness did not seem to be a prerequisite for the emotion at all. None of the characters were presented as saintly or perfect, in fact some of the heroes’ behaviour could only be termed as jackassery - his own personality flaws positively paled in comparison - and still the heroines swooned adoringly into their arms.

He had almost been tempted to wake Ishara up to tell her how good she had it, how she ought to stop sighing and appreciate him a little more. He might have gone through with that idea, except that he didn’t want her to know he’d read such a stupid book in the first place - let alone three hundred and seventy nine of them.

He glanced over at Ishara as she sat with her back to him at the kitchen counter, noisily chewing what looked like a bowl of wood chips but was in fact her disgusting breakfast cereal. If she was suffering from any pangs of love then she was hiding it well, in fact it was downright annoying how little emotion she showed while he lay across from her - suffering.

Usually in the stories the female seemed more emotionally aware, perhaps knowing her true feelings several chapters before the male. Yet almost all of the three hundred and seventy nine heroines had held back on expressing their love at some point in the plot for fear of what the hero would say.

The heroes... they were all sarcastic, mocking bullies. The android conducted a vaguely uncomfortable internal evaluation of his own behaviour. Maybe if he tried to rein in his quick temper and sarcastic mouth a bit, tried to create a climate where she could feel safe expressing her innermost thoughts, she would open up more...

Lore caught the trend of his thoughts with sudden deep alarm. No matter the variables the books all ended the same - with the hero realising he was in love, declaring his passion and commitment and changing to become a better man.

The whole notion was nauseating. The idea of being so gripped by tender feelings that it altered your personality, and suddenly you were helping the poor, adopting kittens, building orphanages - _and being less sarcastic_. Ugh. Revolting. He wouldn’t do it.

Worse still was the idea of saying those three little words every heroine seemed to want to hear. Lore grimaced at the terrifying prospect - if you declared your feelings out loud, that was it, game over. At that point it wouldn’t matter how much you had agonised over your own emotional state, you would be completely in the hands of a silly organic female who could either return your sentiments or dash your heart to pieces on a whim.

His eyes flickered back to Ishara. She looked normal - if he crossed the room right now, stripped off her robe and ravished her on the countertop she probably wouldn’t object at all. The question gnawed at him: If she was happy with the status quo, why had she sighed so longingly?

Unfortunately three hundred and seventy nine romantic novels were just not enough to provide the answer.

The Civic Center had been transformed into a twentieth century fairground, a carnival. The booths remained as before, but now they were decked with strings of fairy lights, casting a soft glow into the evening. Around the hall various acts were performing - holograms or organic performers? Ishara couldn’t tell - but there were fire eaters, jugglers and tightrope walkers, high up above.

Had the twentieth century really been like this? A blaze of colour and fun? Lore had muttered something yesterday about history being remixed to suit the organisers and it seemed probable that he was right.

In one corner of the hall a video gaming championship was being held - players sitting hunchedin front of screens holding tiny controllers to steer blocky cars round a 2-D track, while lights and sounds blared.

In the other corner a pop band on a stage sung a rousing anthem, “Na-na-na, hey Jude,” to a large crowd who were singing along enthusiastically, some of them swaying and clutching each other as if they were having a religious experience.

The dinosaur still thrashed and roared. The man at the ‘Coke’ stand was still giving away t-shirts.

It was bizarre, as if every fandom, or reference belonging to that century had been thrown together to create this melting pot of insanity. Yet there was something life-affirming in the madness, a cheerful camaraderie that made Ishara smile and join in where she could.

Her costume was simple - her short black cocktail dress made retro with neon accents - a fluorescent yellow petticoat made of stiff net, a chunky green necklace, a bright pink belt. She’d styled her hair into the biggest mass of curls she could manage then tied a huge pink lace bow to top it all off. The colours were outrageous, it was hard to believe that such glowing shades had ever been a popular fashion trend on Earth. She’d had plenty of compliments from passersby - some similarly dressed in their own homemade costumes, others obviously cosplaying characters from bygone movies and games.

Lore had said nothing when he saw her. He hadn’t laughed, snarked, or yelled at her for spending a few credits on her accessories. He just glanced quickly and asked if she was ready to leave. He was wearing a dinner suit with a white jacket and shirt, black pants and bow tie. The wrapped up Betamax was tucked under one arm.

He’d been in a strange mood all day - distracted, almost subdued. She wondered if the cost of the replacement ship parts was higher than he’d calculated, maybe the sale of the VCR wouldn’t cover it. She had offered to help him finish sorting through the cargo bay, seeing as she had spotted the relic in the first place, but he’d snarled at her and from then on Ishara had done her best to keep out of his way.

The romantic novel she’d been reading the day before seemed to have disappeared. She checked her cabin, under the sofa, behind the cushions, but it was nowhere to be found. Lore had entered the lounge area as she crawled on her hands and knees, searching, he didn’t ask what she was doing, just glared scornfully and the expression on his face stopped her from asking him if he’d seen it.

In the end she resigned herself to the loss - it wasn’t as if Claudio and Alessa’s happy ever after ending was in much doubt - and decided to download a different book from the station’s library. After some deliberation she chose another twentieth century work, a murder mystery novel set on a boat.

She’d curled up on the sofa with her PADD, not understanding some of the historical detail, but enjoying the glamorous characters - the brilliant detective who was so vain about his moustache, the beautiful heiress who seemed to be asking to be murdered, the heiress’s new husband who she had stolen from her ex best friend, who was _also_ on the boat...

What a bitch, Ishara thought with an idle sigh, then glanced up to find Lore in the doorway again. He let out a snort of irritation, but before she could speak he’d disappeared into the cockpit, muttering under his breath.

After that she’d decided that his weird behaviour was too much. She slipped out to have lunch and get what she needed for her costume, making the shopping trip last most of the afternoon, then sneaked back onto the ship at the last minute to get ready.

At least she was alone now that he had left her to meet the buyer. Free to wander round and enjoy the party without finding him staring at her with that odd, unreadable expression.

People were lining up either side of a wide red carpet that had been spread like a path throughout the hall, ready to watch the procession of floats that would wind round the Civic Center before taking to the streets of Chihiro Station.

A distant beat pulsed through the floor, together with the far off sound of music and cheering. A rush of excitement rippled through the crowd and suddenly the edges of the red carpet were thick with bodies. Ishara held her position at the front with some difficulty, but the jostling was good natured and the atmosphere was one of shared anticipation.

The drumming was getting closer. Dancers began to appear, outliers of the main procession, wearing sequinned bathing suits with huge feathered headdresses - like exotic birds from a dazzling imaginary paradise. Some of them had small paper cannons strapped to their arms so that the exaggerated dance movements set off shimmering streamers of confetti into the crowd.

Next came the floats. They hovered above the ground in a way that Ishara doubted was possible in the twentieth century, kept at chest height by unseen aero stabilisers so that the onlookers would have a good view of the performers onboard.

One of the platforms was full of ‘twentieth century legends’ - a pretty blonde woman in a white dress was laughing and blowing kisses. A man in a white caped jumpsuit and sunglasses was singing, and, although his voice was lost in the uproar, he posed, wiggled his hips and waved to the crowd. A well built man in a blue leotard with his red underwear on the outside stood with his arms folded across his chest, nodding graciously at the revellers.

It was the strangest spectacle Ishara had ever seen and, as the line of floats kept coming, she gave up trying to place the characters, stopped wondering who was real and who was a hologram, and just danced in place along with the rest of the crowd letting the deep, vibrating beat of the music move her.

As the parade reached it’s height and began to taper off a little, she felt a familiar hand rest on her back and turned to see the android standing close behind her, still wearing that shuttered look on his face.

“Well? Did he want it?” she shouted over the noise, wondering if the deal had fallen through somehow.

Lore rolled his eyes and put his mouth close to her ear to reply, “He was disturbingly excited by his acquisition. I almost had to tell him to get a life.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. We all have our inexplicable obsessions.”

His eyes fell on her with bitter meaning as he spoke and Ishara felt her temper rise. She couldn’t take much more of this.

“Listen, if you want to say something -,” she began hotly, stepping forward onto the red carpet a little so she could turn to face the android fully.

She broke off as the last line of the bird-like dancers bore down on them, the wild costumes still sending out showers of confetti. For a second she and Lore were surrounded by dizzying noise and colour, then the android’s quick reflexes took over and he caught her by the waist and swung her out of the way. The rest of the crowd closed in behind the departing procession, obviously intending to follow the party through the streets of Chihiro Station.

Ishara clung to Lore’s arms, disoriented and laughing breathlessly. A few of the pieces of glittering paper had settled in his hair and on his shoulders. She reached up to gently brush them away, smiling at him.

His gold eyes were intense, the blazing brightness at odds with his unnaturally quiet demeanour. Again that pucker formed between his eyebrows before he shifted backwards.

Her fingers fell, trailing slowly down his jacket front. “What’s that in your pocket?” she asked suddenly, feeling a thin rectangular hardness.

Normally the android might have replied with an smutty quip, but today Lore settled for a half hearted smirk, then reached inside and, to her amazement, pulled out her lost romantic novel. “Oh, here. I found this. I meant to give it to you.” He handed the slim paperback back to her.

“I’ve been looking for it all day! Where was it?”

“Cargo bay.”

“How did it get in there?”

“Perhaps you dropped it.” He shrugged as if it hardly mattered, “Now you get to find out the ending.”

Ishara pulled a rueful face, still a little embarrassed that he’d caught her reading the book, “Actually all these romances end the same. I got bored with the modern ones and I thought I’d see if an ancient story would be any different, but....”

Lore’s face seemed to contort. His mask of indifference shattered and he scowled at her accusingly, “Oh please! You’ve had your nose in your PADD reading these things and sighing all day!”

She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden change in his manner. “No, I haven’t.” He sneered and she said again with more force, “I have not!”

“But... you sighed!” He snatched the book from her, turned to the page she’d marked the night before and began to read,_ “‘Claudio’s strong hands framed Alessa’s heart shaped face, “You are my reason for life,” he told her, his deep voice breaking a little, “I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, for thinking of you. My heart is in your hands, it is yours, and it will break if you do not love me even just a little.’_” Lore spat the last few words at her without looking at the passage and tossed the book back.

Bewildered by his venom, Ishara caught it and flipped to the offending page. “I didn’t even get to that bit, someone interrupted and after that I didn’t feel like reading anymore.” She found her place and read, “‘_The ocean was like a blue jewel, multi faceted and glittering in the sunlight. The shallows were clear as crystal, the depths a true sapphire.’_” She stopped and glared at the android, “I’ve never seen the sea. On Turkana IV the water had turned to swamps because of the environmental damage from the wars... but it sounds beautiful. We never go anywhere like that, so yes, I may have sighed.”

There was a blistering silence. Lore was staring at her as if she’d sprouted an extra head, his eyes round with astonishment.

“And today I downloaded a murder mystery novel. I probably sighed because every time I thought I’d worked out who the murderer was _they_ got murdered too!”

She frowned, gripped by the sudden odd certainty that it wasn’t her choice of reading material that was his problem, it was the fact that she’d _sighed_ over it. “Why did you think I was sighing?” she demanded.

Lore opened his mouth, it moved but no sound came out. He looked caught - as though she’ddiscovered him in some dreadful misdemeanour that he couldn’t think of an excuse for. After a moment he gave up, shook his head, threw both his hands in the air, and flounced toward the exit.

Lore slammed the empty packing case back into it’s place in the cargo hold then kicked it hard. The metal clanged and he withdrew his foot to see a satisfying dent in the rectangular housing.

He was an idiot and he’d behaved like one, letting his paranoia and suspicion overwhelm any tiny portion of good sense he possessed. If he’d just looked at the covers of the romance novels on her PADD he would have seen that behind the canoodling couples all the settings were tropical beaches with blue oceans that stretched out to the horizon.

He half hoped Ishara had been lying about today’s reading so he could feel less like a complete ass, but as soon as he returned to the ship he’d checked the activity on her PADD - Death on the Nile, a twentieth century mystery featuring more sun, sand and water.

What the hell did it say about him that he was _relieved_ she was reading about multiple murders instead of romance?

He’d removed his jacket and undone his shirt buttons as soon as he got back onboard, intending to change out of the smart clothes, but the untidy pile of crates had offered a physical distraction from his chaotic thoughts and he’d plunged in. He paused to roll his sleeves up and rubbed absently at a dirty streak on the white fabric, perhaps he ought to remove the garment before it got totally ruined or perhaps he should just carry on and let it get spoilt, as a testament to his utter foolishness.

Was there any point pretending that he didn’t care when the whole thing just showed how far Ishara had gotten under his skin already? For all that he liked to mock her organic nature, she wasn’t stupid - a little slow on the uptake maybe, but even she would deduce from his behaviour that he had developed an attachment to her.

The high pitched hum of the transporter made him glance up, just in time to see Ishara materialise on the pad in the corner of the cargo hold. She looked taken aback to see him there in front of her, maybe she’d anticipated having a moment or two to collect her thoughts when she returned.

The silence dragged awkwardly.

Ishara cast a brief glance at his exposed chest then swallowed and gazed down at the book in her hand. “Lore,” she began slowly, “you do know that just because- because your mother read the occasional romance it didn’t mean she was unhappy with your father, right? I mean, people, especially women, like to read about love and courtship - and ok, maybe identify with the heroine a tiny bit - but it isn’t any reflection on their real life relationships.”

Lore gave her a sidelong look. He might be romantically obtuse, but even he knew they weren’t discussing his parents. He resisted the urge to call her out, tell her to rise above her species and be honest with him, because - maybe for the first time since they met - Ishara Yar was actually talking about emotions.

“No?” he replied, keeping his tone and expression unreadable.

She shook her head emphatically and the silly neon lace bow in her hair bobbed up and down, “No, these books aren’t supposed to be realistic - the heroines are mostly wimps and the heroes are mostly asses! It’s just a bit of escapism. Characters in beautiful settings overcoming their troubles to get happy endings.”

“I saw a series of books and movies about a spy at Retrofest,” she continued, “apparently they were really popular in the twentieth century. This guy had adventures and gadgets, and he slept with lots of beautiful women - a macho equivalent to this I guess.”

Lore had seen the display too. It had occurred to him as he passed that an android super spy would make a much better hero - and perhaps that was the point; he had identified with the improbably suave leading character for a moment, briefly imagining himself in his shoes. It had meant nothing.

Her eyes finally rose to meet his and he realised with a jolt that she was concerned - about him, about his feelings. She could easily have pretended she _only_ read the books for the exotic settings, but she was trying make him understand the attraction of a romantic novel for a woman - for her. She didn’t want him to - another of his father’s odd, human sayings - have the wrong end of the stick. _She didn’t want him to think she was unhappy with him._

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged dismissively, indicating that he accepted and understood her explanation. The tension between them seemed to lessen for the first time that day. Ishara tossed the romantic novel into one of the empty packing cases and came to stand in front of him.

“Sometimes a sigh is just a sigh, you know?” she said gently, as if she felt what she was pointing out was obvious to everyone except him.

Lore felt like sighing himself - humans could be so complicated, but sometimes so simplistic. “Like the song?” he asked, snatching at a change of topic.

“Huh?” She looked nonplussed and the android rolled his eyes.

“You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss?” he sang softly, prompting her memory.

“Oh, _that_ song! It’s very old, but I know.”

Lore nodded, and continued singing, “a sigh is just a sigh,” On impulse he reached out and took her hand, manoeuvring her into a dancing position. Ishara laughed but didn’t resist. She wasn’t much of a dancer at the best of times, but she obviously remembered the tune and was able to sway slowly to the rhythm with him as he sang.

“The fundamental things apply, as time goes by.”

He spun her gently away then brought her back, dropping her hand to enclose her tightly in his arms, their bodies inches apart. Her fingers splayed against his bare skin between the edges of his white shirt fronts, her touch arousing and intimate.

“And when two lovers woo, they still say.....”

Lore let the song trail off, staring intently into Ishara’s eyes. The rest of the line hung in the air, unspoken between them.

It was one of those moments when time seemed to pause, a skipped beat, which the android used to focus all his powers of observation on her face.

If Ishara had not wanted to hear the next words she would have looked sideways, away from him, as she always did when she wanted to avoid a subject. Instead she was holding his gaze, the laughter fading from her face to be replaced by a gentler emotion.

This whole bizarre episode including her response to the song put three things beyond doubt in his mind:

One, Ishara thought they were a couple, felt that they were in a romantic relationship - if she didn’t then she wouldn't have bothered to explain about the novel. 

Two, whatever things were broken and wrong about him his capacity for a full range of emotions was definitely _not_ impaired.

And three, if he decided he wanted to express these sentiments Ishara was not going to run away screaming.

Did he want to though? And would she return the endearment if he did?

She was still staring at him, although her pupils had taken on that dilated look he was so familiar with. He saw her gaze flicker to his lips, felt her body temperature begin to climb and her breathing become unsteady. She wanted him.

Lore’s sexual sub-routines pressed insistently in his consciousness, nagging for permission to activate. He gave in to desire gratefully, abandoning all rational analysis of the situation, and kissed her passionately and skilfully, letting his hands shift over the silk dress to shape the sweet curves underneath.

Ishara’s eyes drifted closed, while her hands slid up to clutch at his shoulders as if he was the only stable point in the whole universe. After a moment he felt the tremble that ran through the length of her body as she let out a soft sigh of pleasure at his caresses.

For once, a sigh that he _knew_ the meaning of.

With a confident smirk Lore did what three hundred and seventy nine other romantic heroes would have done in his place - he swept the heroine up in his manly arms and carried her purposefully toward the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a collector of old tech comes from an episode of Cowboy Bebop - the one with Faye’s Betamax tape.
> 
> So, I wanted to write a story with Lore and Ishara reacting to a romantic novel - I wanted it to be short and funny.... this is what I ended up with. XDDD
> 
> I realised that Ishara needed to have a paper copy of a novel that Lore could see her reading, I also wanted it to be old fashioned - like one of those 1980s Mills and Boon/Harlequin books with a drawing on the front, the ones where the hero is soooo arrogant that it’s unbelievable by modern standards. I’d like to think that 24th century romances would be more enlightened.
> 
> I came up with the idea of Retrofest. I’m not sure if it was a good idea or not, because explaining it ended up consuming a lot of the story and sending the word count sky high. 
> 
> I also realised that Lore would take a romantic novel as a threat, so - cue the angst!


End file.
